Soquel, CA, 1992
Woke from this dream…
I was standing “at ease” in my Air Force khakis, in a loose formation of men, in a room bedecked with exhibits of fancy new aircraft navigation and communications equipment, wondering why I let myself be inducted back into The Service, among all these other guys, without so much as a peep of protest. Resigned to the inevitable when the demand was made, the order, the call to action; it had seemed simple to go along with and difficult to oppose.
Yet I could have gotten out of it. Here I am in my forties, having already served 4 years during the Viet Nam war (though far from the bullets). This was nuts. It showed a major lack of initiative, gumption, balls.
Unless this was what I really wanted to do for the next few years – stand around dreaming, waiting for Duty to vomit up its orders, enduring the anticipated boredom, letting chunks of my time slip away into the wind in exchange for a few real highlights, fall back on the initiation process and do the ashes work over again, as I had been reading in Robert Bly’s book, Iron John.
I looked at the clock: 3:50 in the morning, pitch dark outside. I had intended to get up at 5:50 and write a rough draft scene for Frances’s novel, Corpse Finder. That would be a good solid way to start my weekend, putting my precious time to a purpose, not sold to the usual bidders. Suddenly I knew that NOW was the moment to grab. No hesitation. OK, luxuriate in a hot-face towel, indulge in some hot cocoa, step out for a look at the stars – but get thee up and cracking! No lethargy. Sleep and passivity can wait.
Lurking even in my dreams, for the unquick, is The Machine.
~ Tim